Waking
by evitamockingbird
Summary: What if Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes had behaved differently during 3x3?
1. Waking him

Mrs. Hughes had a great deal on her mind and hadn't slept well recently. Tonight was no different; it was two o'clock and she found herself once again contemplating the ceiling of her bedroom. She didn't have a lamp on, so she was actually only imagining her ceiling, which she knew like the back of her hand. Over her head there was a curving crack in it, one that had been barely noticeable when she first moved into the housekeeper's room, but now was about six inches long. Six inches in almost twenty years. How would her own life be measured, if all she had achieved at this moment was all she would achieve in her life? Would it be measured like that crack in the ceiling, as just a measure of time that she had spent in one place? She had achieved a great deal, by some standards. Mrs. Hughes was a farmer's daughter, but she had taken her education at the village school and moved on to educate herself further as she moved up through the ranks in service. She read, she observed, and she learned. And now she had become the housekeeper at one of England's great estates, working for a family that had its share of faults and frailties, but who treated employees well. She could hold an intelligent conversation with the lady of the house and then go downstairs and speak to her newest housemaid just as easily. But how would that measure in the end? She could think of at least one thing she had _not_ achieved in her lifetime, but she knew that it was fruitless to linger on those thoughts. In vulnerable moments like this, it could be extremely painful.

She lay still, her eyes wide open, though she could see nothing. All was silent, other than the creaking of the house. She gradually became aware of sounds breaking that silence - a voice, she thought. She raised herself up on her elbows to listen. It was coming from the men's side of the hall; it sounded like someone was having a nightmare. At first she waited for Mr. Carson or one of the others to wake the poor man, but after a few seconds it occurred to her that it sounded like Mr. Carson himself who was in distress. She got out of bed, put on her dressing gown, and left her room. She made her way quickly and quietly through the dividing door - years of taking care of staff who were ill had taught her that - and toward Mr. Carson's room. She hoped he hadn't moved his lamp since the last time he'd been ill, or she might have difficulty finding it. Otherwise she might have to turn on the overhead light and that could be a rude awakening for him. Mrs. Hughes entered Mr. Carson's room and started to move toward the table where his lamp usually stood when she was brought up short by his nightmare-fueled mumblings.

"Don't go," he muttered. "I can't do without you, Mrs. Hughes." His voice rose and Mrs. Hughes stumbled again in the direction of the lamp. "Please don't go, Mrs. Hughes. How will I do without you? Elsie, don't go." She had some difficulty finding the lamp at first, not because he had moved it, but because she wasn't used to arriving in the pitch black without a light of her own. It was only a few second more, though, before she had found it and switched it on. She hurried to the bed and began shaking Mr. Carson by the shoulder.

"Mr. Carson, wake up." She tried to sharpen her tone enough to cut through his sleep, but not to wake anyone else. "Mr. Carson!"

His eyes opened at the sound of her voice and his face crumpled. "Why do you torment me?" he pleaded.

"Mr. Carson," she said more firmly, shaking him harder. "Wake up! You're having a bad dream." At last, she could see him wake as she looked into his eyes. Suddenly his opposite hand reached over to the hand that still lay on his shoulder and clamped onto her wrist like a vise.

"What is happening?" He spoke in a low, urgent tone.

"You had a bad dream," she answered, then winced. "Mr. Carson, you're hurting me." He let go of her wrist as quickly as he had taken hold of it. "You were making quite a bit of noise. I was already awake, so I thought I'd come wake you before any of the others were disturbed."

"Thank you," he said. "I'm sorry to have bothered you."

"It's no trouble, Mr. Carson. As I said, I was already awake."

He didn't say anything else or even look at her and his breathing seemed to have quieted, so Mrs. Hughes decided she would leave him. However, she had taken only one step away from him when he grasped her hand again, this time much more gently than before. "Don't go yet, Mrs. Hughes."

She stood still, her heart in her throat. First there had been the nightmare and everything he had said before she woke him, but now that he was awake he was behaving oddly as well. She wasn't used to him taking her hand like that. She gave a little nod and he let go of her hand and patted the bed beside him.

"Will you sit?" he asked.

Mrs. Hughes ignored his gesture and pulled up the armchair so she could sit _close_ to the bed, but not _on_ it. She waited to see what he would say.

"I dreamt you were dying, and I was with you when you died," he said. Mrs. Hughes stopped breathing for a moment. "But then it happened over and over. You were alive, but then you died, again and again."

"If it makes you feel better, Mr. Carson, I assure that I can die only once." The words sounded callous to her as soon as they left her mouth, but she could not take them back.

"That isn't funny, Mrs. Hughes." She was pierced by his grave and reproachful gaze.

"You're right. I'm sorry."

"But the dream was true, wasn't it?" he asked, his eyes not releasing her. "Or at least some of it was."

"What do you mean?"

"I heard you and Mrs. Patmore talking earlier - about your waiting for some news from the doctor."

Mrs. Hughes couldn't speak.

"What is wrong, Mrs. Hughes?"

She was still silent.

"Will you not tell me? I've dreamt and imagined so many things, each more frightful than the last."

"All right. I'll tell you," she said softly. He took her hand again, which shook her almost as much as this strange conversation, more personal than any they had ever had. "I found a lump, a growth of some sort, and I went to see Dr. Clarkson. He did a small surgery to test the fluid in it."

"Surgery!" Mr. Carson interrupted. "When was this? Why did you not say? Didn't you need time to recuperate?"

"It was a few weeks ago," she answered. "I wanted to keep working, to feel normal, to try to avoid thinking about it."

"I remember now. You didn't seem quite yourself. And I was a terrible ogre, wasn't I?" he murmured.

Mrs. Hughes shook her head. "It doesn't matter now. Anyway, Dr. Clarkson's test was inconclusive so he's sent the fluid off for analysis. I hope the results will come soon, so I know what I am facing." She paused and took a deep breath. "I might have cancer." She looked at him with tears in her eyes. He looked terrible, all mussed and red-faced after his nightmare. "Have you got a handkerchief?" she asked.

Mr. Carson nodded. "In that drawer."

She opened the indicated drawer and pulled out one of his handkerchiefs. She moved from her chair to perch on the bed. "You're sweating, you poor man, and you're all flushed." She wiped his face with the handkerchief. "Can I get you a glass of water?"

Mr. Carson could hardly believe the kindness of the woman gently wiping the sweat from his brow, though it had always been there. She was the one waiting to find out if she had a fatal disease, but _she_ was comforting _him_. "No, thank you, Mrs. Hughes. Just stay here, please, for a little longer." She had laid aside the handkerchief and he took her hand again and spoke gently, this time looking at their hands, rather than her face. "I hope you know you can rely on me, Mrs. Hughes."

"Of course."

"I'm am old curmudgeon, but-"

"Not_ old_, Mr. Carson, please." Mrs. Hughes smiled.

"But I _am_ your friend," he finished, finally looking up at her.

She nodded and looked at him in wonder. She wanted to speak, but couldn't really find the words. Mr. Carson seemed to understand and waited patiently.

"You were_ that_ upset?" she said at last.

He looked shocked. "Of course I was upset! What kind of man would I be if I wasn't upset by a dream of watching you die, again and again, and being completely powerless to do anything about it?"

Mrs. Hughes shook her head. "I meant that I didn't tell you."

He was silent for a moment. "Yes, I was."

"I hope our speaking of it now will not cause you any more nightmares," she remarked.

"I don't think so," Mr. Carson replied. "Not now you've confided in me. That means a lot to me."

Mrs. Hughes smiled slightly. She very gently pushed back the hair hanging over his forehead with her free hand. "I should go."

"Stay a little longer."

"All right."

Mr. Carson smiled and squeezed her hand. Mrs. Hughes stayed perched on the side of his bed, the warmth of his hand making her feel safe and cared for. They just looked at each other, saying nothing, until he fell asleep. She felt his hand relax its grip on hers and she sat there for another minute or so watching him sleep before she left his room and quietly returned to hers.

_To be continued..._


	2. Waking to Her

The next morning, Mr. Carson rose as usual and began to dress for the day. He was putting on his tie when the events of the previous evening came back to him. The nightmare was the worst he had had in years. Mrs. Hughes was at first alive and healthy, but weakened and suffered before his eyes until she closed her eyes and breathed her last. It was terrible on its own, but when the process repeated itself, each time a little different from the last, he became more and more disturbed. Sometimes she died peacefully and sometimes she died crying out or weeping in pain, digging her fingers into his hand. After several deaths in a row, Mr. Carson began to plead with her not to die. He didn't think about whether or not she could control when or how she died, but there was no one else present whom he could ask for help, so he begged her not to go, told her he couldn't do without her. At last the real Mrs. Hughes came to wake him from his nightmare. He did not want her to go and, as in his dream, he kept asking her to stay, though more calmly than in his dream. She did stay and they talked. Mrs. Hughes admitted to him that she might have cancer, but she comforted him after his nightmare. Cancer. What a frightening prospect. She must be terrified. And yet she worked on, as though nothing were amiss. Mr. Carson began to wonder if it had really happened at all. Perhaps the nightmare had been followed by a slightly less terrifying dream. He couldn't quite eliminate the possibility in his mind.

Mr. Carson took one last look in the glass and nodded to himself that he was ready to begin his day. When he turned toward his door, he noticed something on the floor and bent to pick it up. It was a small button, covered in white cotton. He smiled. The button was proof that Mrs. Hughes had really been here last night. It must have come from her nightdress. Mr. Carson wasn't sure what to do with it. He supposed he ought to give it back to her, but it would have to be something he did away from the prying eyes and ears of the others. Part of him wanted to keep it, though he knew he ought to return it, to remember last night and how kind Mrs. Hughes had been, in case she... In the end he tucked the button in his waistcoat pocket and decided to make up his mind later about what to do with it.

Mr. Carson went to his pantry as soon as he came downstairs. In truth, he was hoping to avoid Mrs. Hughes, at least until he had a little time to think. Now that he was sure their encounter of the night before was real, he was a little abashed by his own behavior. He had been very familiar with her - entreating her several times to stay, suggesting that she sit on his bed, and taking her hand. She hadn't seemed to mind, and she had gently touched him as she swept aside the hair that was falling in his face, but he still thought he had behaved inappropriately. Mr. Carson felt he could excuse himself in part because even after he had awakened from the nightmare he was not quite himself. He had felt extremely disturbed, gripped by a certain desperation that drove him to ask her to stay. However, this didn't fully justify him; he _was_ awake after all, and he should have mastered his impulses and sent Mrs. Hughes away as soon as she had awakened him. He would need to apologize for his ungentlemanly behavior, but the situation seemed a bit of a conundrum. Mr. Carson was sorry that he had not behaved well and wanted to make amends, but he also wanted to tell her how grateful he was for how kind she had been to him. It would be a tricky conversation, and the breakfast table didn't seem to be the appropriate place for it. He might have to wait until late evening and ask her to come to his pantry for a glass of wine or some tea. Lady Edith's wedding was today and they would both be much too busy, for all or most of the day, to speak privately. That at least would give him time to consider what he might say to Mrs. Hughes. They would see each other frequently throughout the day; hopefully it would not be too awkward.

At breakfast, Mrs. Hughes looked a little tired, but she smiled at Mr. Carson as soon as their eyes met for the first time that day. Her smile was contagious and he couldn't help returning it. They spoke of all of the wedding preparations, most of which were finished by now, or would be done in the few hours between the servants' breakfast and everyone's departure for the wedding. They agreed to walk together to the wedding, each smiling throughout the mundane conversation. Everything was in place in good time, and Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes left the house, the other servants following at intervals or with the wedding party. After they had left the yard, Mr. Carson dared to offer Mrs. Hughes his arm, and she hesitated a moment before taking it, but he could detect a small smile on her lips and a little extra color in her cheeks. They had rarely, if ever, walked arm in arm in this way, and Mr. Carson found that he liked it very much. He felt steadied and solid and he also felt proud of the woman on his arm. She was respected, she was a force to be reckoned with, she was imperfect and perfect all at once. He hoped that some of her strength and character might flow into him through the contact between their arms.

Mr. Carson shook himself mentally. What was happening? In the space of less than twelve hours, he had touched Mrs. Hughes more than he had in their entire acquaintance and now he was walking to church with her on his arm, thinking about how perfectly wonderful she was. When had he ever thought of her that way? Mr. Carson had often thought of how lucky he was to work with her, because of how efficient she was, and that they worked together so smoothly. He had always valued her friendship. But was there more there than just friendship? He stole a glance down at Mrs. Hughes and somehow saw her with new eyes. All of the praise his mind had just been heaping on her was true, but she was also beautiful. She felt delicate on his arm, but he knew she was also strong. She was stubborn, yet flexible. She was rigorously strict, yet not unyielding when her generosity demanded softness. All of these contradictions made her the lovely woman that she was. He turned away from her to look once more at the path he walked. Now thoughts of losing her oppressed Mr. Carson even more than they had the night before. Unconsciously, he placed his free hand over hers. She looked up at him in surprise, but he was lost in thought and did not notice. He was working something out in his mind - coming to the thrilling and frightening conclusion that he loved her.

He became aware that they were now approaching the church and Mrs. Hughes let her arm slide out of his as they took their usual seats. The groom waited nervously at the front of the church. The bride was more than fashionably late, but she looked lovely and very happy. They were seated again and the ceremony began, but soon a commotion arose at the front of the church. At first it was only Sir Anthony, Lady Edith, and Lord Grantham speaking, but the dowager countess eventually intervened, pulling her granddaughter away. Sir Anthony spoke to the bride once more before he fled the church. They watched Lady Edith depart in a rush as well, followed by her family. Most of the guests milled around inside and outside the church, but the staff of Downton Abbey knew that they must return to the house as soon as possible. The family were driven back, but the servants who were in attendance hurried in the wake of the cars and were not terribly far behind. They all changed quickly from wedding attire into their uniforms and scattered to the places they knew they were needed. A few came to Mrs. Hughes or Mr. Carson for direction and were sent off to help with wedding-related tasks.

Mr. Carson wondered if now might be a good time to pull Mrs. Hughes aside and apologize to her for his behavior last night. With no wedding guests to serve, the day would be much more relaxed than they had expected. There would still certainly be plenty to do to clean up the evidence of the aborted wedding party, but it would definitely be a calmer day than they had all anticipated. He decided to try to catch her sometime soon, before dinner preparations swallowed them both up. He found her in her sitting room midafternoon, when it was still mostly quiet. He knocked on the open door.

"Mrs. Hughes, might I have a word?" he asked.

She looked up from her desk and smiled. "Of course. Come in."

_To be continued..._


	3. Waking Nightmare

**Thank you all for your reviews and feedback. They mean a lot to me.**

Mr. Carson entered and closed the door behind him. He sat down in one of the chairs next to her table, and she put down her pen and turned her chair to face him. "You look quite serious, Mr. Carson," she noted. "Is anything wrong?"

"I'd like to thank you for being so kind to me last night when you found me in such a state," he said seriously.

"It was nothing, Mr. Carson," she replied, looking down at her hands.

"It was _not_ nothing, Mrs. Hughes," he argued. "No one else in the house would have bothered with me. I would have awakened on my own, eventually."

"No one?" she needled. "Certainly your Lady Mary would have, don't you think?"

He smiled at her teasing. "Certainly not! What on earth would Lady Mary be doing in the attics?"

"Well, I was glad to help, anyway," Mrs. Hughes said.

Mr. Carson cleared his throat. "That brings me to a more delicate matter."

Mrs. Hughes raised her eyebrows. "Oh, dear! You are frightening me now!" She spoke jestingly, but really she was rather nervous about what Mr. Carson might say.

He looked at her directly and spoke in a firm voice. "I apologize for my behavior last night, Mrs. Hughes. It was ungentlemanly of me to be so familiar - to urge you to stay in my bedroom and to suggest that you sit on my bed! And then to take your hand as though... as though..." Mr. Carson was floundering.

Mrs. Hughes's wary expression softened. "Mr. Carson, you were not quite yourself last night. And don't tell my maids I said this, but I believe certain situations call for a little impropriety."

Mr. Carson shook his head. "I don't agree. It was disrespectful to you that I behaved in such a manner and I beg your pardon for it."

"Very well," Mrs. Hughes agreed, hiding a smile. "I accept your apology and you are forgiven. There now. Do you feel better?"

Mr. Carson shifted in his chair and looked thoughtful. "Yes, I suppose I do."

There was a knock on the door.

"Yes?"

Alfred opened the door. "This just arrived for you, Mrs. Hughes." He handed her an envelope.

Mr. Carson frowned. "Surely that's not the afternoon post?"

"No, Mr. Carson," Alfred replied. "I answered the back door and a messenger gave it to me."

"Thank you, Alfred," Mrs. Hughes said.

The footman nodded and left the room, closing the door behind him.

Mr. Carson wondered if the note was what he thought it might be, but he rose from his chair. "I'll leave you alone to read your note."

"No, please stay." Mrs. Hughes had gone pale. She was staring at the envelope in her hands.

Mr. Carson sat down. "Do you... do you want me to open it?"

She shook her head and swallowed hard, opening the envelope with shaking hands. She read the note and began to laugh nervously.

Mr. Carson wasn't sure what to think. "What is it? Is it from the doctor?"

"Yes, but I've gotten all worked up ahead of time," she said. "All it says is to call tomorrow for the results. Tomorrow will be the day for nerves."

Mr. Carson looked at her skeptically. "I should think that the last several weeks have been as nerve-wracking as today or tomorrow."

"Perhaps, perhaps not." Mrs. Hughes shrugged. "But I'll go after the upstairs breakfast is done and everything is settled. I'd better tell Mrs. Patmore. She'll want to come with me. And she'll be glad of one thing. She's been on at me for weeks to tell you."

"I wish you had."

"What difference would it have made?" she asked with a mirthless laugh. "Just one more person to have worrying about me. Why should I upset you when it could be nothing?"

"And what if I _wanted_ to worry about you?" he asked.

"You're making no sense, Mr. Carson."

"Wanted to comfort you," he clarified. "To be on your side so you weren't bearing this fear all on your own. I would have lessened your load, you know. Just a little, so the rest of the staff wouldn't notice."

"So I could do what? Sit alone in my room and think about the fact that I might be dying?" she demanded harshly.

Mr. Carson was becoming exasperated. "Take a walk, perhaps? Visit the garden? Enjoy the sunshine?" he suggested testily. "Really, Mrs. Hughes, I don't understand why you're fighting me so."

She immediately sat back with a sigh, closing her eyes and pinching the bridge of her nose between her finger and thumb. "I'm sorry, Mr. Carson," she said quietly. She opened her eyes, which were now filling with tears. "The truth is... The truth is I'm frightened out of my wits and I'm taking it out on you, which isn't fair." The threatening tears fell and Mrs. Hughes turned away from him, towards her desk. She was not a complete mess, but she was crying in earnest. She didn't want him to see her like this, so she tried to hide it, covering her mouth to keep herself silent. But it was no use. Her shoulders shook and the sounds of her distress were only partially contained. Not only that, but Mr. Carson had come to her and silently held out his handkerchief to her. Mrs. Hughes took it and covered her face with it, trying to hide her cries from anyone passing by her sitting room, but no longer from him.

Mr. Carson hated to see her so afflicted. She was so dear to him that he didn't want to see her suffering _any_ degree of unhappiness, but this was no small unhappiness, and it pierced him deeply; he felt real physical pain. He was also disconcerted to see her cry at all. He was sure she had never done so in his presence. That certainly didn't mean that she never cried, but the unfamiliarity of it made the sight that much more distressing to him. But Mr. Carson reminded himself, as these thoughts passed through his mind, that she was the one in most pain and in need of comfort. He rested his hand lightly on her shoulder as she wept. Mrs. Hughes jumped slightly, he could only assume in surprise, but made no objection to his touch. He was beginning to understand what she had said a few minutes ago about certain situations requiring impropriety. He was touching her again, something he probably should not do, although at least they were not in their nightclothes in a bedroom. As he stood behind her, waiting for her tears to abate, he was able to observe and admire at his leisure. He wasn't sure if he could find anything objectively extraordinary about any of her visible parts, but altogether she was glorious. Subjectively _he_ found every part of her beautiful. Her foot was delightful, her shoulder wonderful, her wrist magnificent. Her face he could not see, but he knew it by heart. How changeable it was, and therefore infinitely interesting and simply marvelous. Mr. Carson found himself overflowing with admiration and affection, but he kept silent. He was sure he could not keep it to himself forever, but he certainly had no intention of declaring his undying love to her now. She must get through tomorrow, at least, and after that he would be cautious and try to gauge _her_ feelings. The results of the test must be taken into account, of course. They would dictate his manner and his timing, but not his decision to tell her how he felt. She deserved to know that she was loved.

Mrs. Hughes's weeping seemed to have quieted, although her face remained covered in the handkerchief. Mr. Carson squeezed her shoulder gently and she finally removed the handkerchief from her face and looked up into his eyes. She seemed to be in search of something. Whether or not she found it, he did not know. After what seemed to him like minutes of scrutiny, she turned away from him and gestured toward his chair, indicating that he should be seated again. He obeyed her after moving the chair closer to hers. They now faced each other from a much closer, though still respectable, distance.

"I must return your words to you, Mr. Carson," Mrs. Hughes said in a hoarse voice. "Thank you and I'm sorry."

"You're welcome," he answered. "But there's nothing for which you need apologize."

"For that very undignified display."

"Come now," Mr. Carson argued gently. "You're starting to sound just like me."

At this, a tiny smile made an appearance on her face. "We can't have that, I suppose."

"One of me is quite enough, I should think," he said.

Mrs. Hughes said nothing to this, looking away and wiping her eyes again. After a moment she rose from her seat and went to look in the glass. "Oh dear," she lamented. "I don't think I'm fit to be seen." Her eyes and nose were red and her face had a weary look about it.

Mr. Carson got up and stood a few feet behind her so that he could see her face. "Go up to your room for a bit, Mrs. Hughes," he suggested. "I'll ask a maid, or better yet Mrs. Patmore, to bring you some cold water. You can bathe your face and take a little time to compose yourself before the evening begins in earnest."

Mrs. Hughes could see in her peripheral vision that Mr. Carson was behind her, but she wouldn't meet his eyes in the mirror. She was going to argue at first, but she realized that he was right. She was in no state to be seen and a little time with a cold cloth in the cold and dark of her room would put her right. She nodded. "The trick will be getting upstairs without being seen."

"I'll take a look down the corridor," Mr. Carson volunteered. "I'm sure we can get you up to the attic without being seen." He opened the door and stepped out. "There's no one out here right now,"he said, gesturing for her to come.

Mrs. Hughes peeked out into the empty corridor. "Thank you again, Mr. Carson," she murmured without looking at him, and hurried toward the stairs.

_To be continued..._


	4. Awake at Half Past Two

**Thank you for all of your support.**

Mrs. Hughes took a quick look in the mirror. Her face showed almost no sign that she had been crying. However, she was not yet ready to go downstairs. She needed to be alone with her thoughts, if only for a few moments, before going back downstairs. Mr. Carson's behavior in the last day puzzled her exceedingly. Ever since she had known him, he seemed to make a point never to touch her, and when he did, even if his finger just brushed hers as he passed her the salt, he always begged her pardon. He had begged her pardon for how he had behaved last night, but that touch had not come by way of an accidental brush of their hands. He had very purposefully taken her hand several times and even if he had not been quite himself, no one could call that contact inadvertent. And then he had offered her his arm on the way to church and back, and had laid his hand on her shoulder just now without apology. And that didn't even take into account the things he'd said before he'd awakened from his nightmare. These actions seemed to speak an affection that Mrs. Hughes had not been aware of before, but she would not trust herself, after less than a day's observation, to draw conclusions. If she was wrong, it would be painful to her, no matter how short a time she spent believing it was possible that Mr. Carson should love her. Even if he loved her in dreams, there was no guarantee that he would ever admit it to his waking self. It would take only seconds for her hopes to soar - she knew from experience - and seconds for them to crash to the ground again. Mrs. Hughes tamped down her hopes - she could feel herself beginning to wish already - and reminded herself that she had something more important to think about. She would see Dr. Clarkson tomorrow and receive the long-awaited and long-dreaded news. Even in her fear, there was a certain relief in knowing that she would not be much longer in the dark about whether or not she was dying. Sometimes uncertainty was worse even than a certainty of something bad. At least knowing that something bad was going to happen, one could prepare to face it, although she wasn't sure what she could do to prepare for battle with this particular enemy. Mrs. Hughes took a few slow, deep breaths and made her way downstairs.

#####

It was two o'clock in the morning and, unsurprisingly, Mrs. Hughes was again staring in the dark at the crack in her ceiling. She knew she would be lucky if she got any sleep at all tonight. She was wide awake. At half past two she sighed heavily and climbed out of bed, put on her dressing gown and slippers, and made her way down the stairs for a cup of tea. She didn't think it would soothe her, but it was something to do to pass the time. She put the kettle on and found a cup and saucer and all of the other tea things.

"Is there enough for two?" said a voice behind her. Mrs. Hughes whirled around to find Mr. Carson in the doorway of the kitchen.

"Certainly," she said, getting another cup and saucer. The water boiled and she fixed his tea and put it on the tray, which she carried into the servants' hall. He followed her. She took her usual seat to the right of the butler's chair, but Mr. Carson surprised her by sitting to her right at the table.

"I'm not the butler right now," he explained, when she raised her eyebrows in question.

"Then who _are_ you?" she wanted to know.

"I'm just an ordinary man," he answered. "And I'm your friend. I came down to see if you wanted company."

"How did you know I was down here?" she asked.

"I couldn't sleep, and then I heard footsteps in the silence. I couldn't be entirely sure it was you, but I had a pretty good idea who I would find down here at half past two in the morning."

"Well, thank you for the company," Mrs. Hughes replied. "I don't think I'll have much to say, but it's nice not to be alone."

They sipped in silence for a while, each deep in their own thoughts. Mrs. Hughes allowed herself to be distracted from her troubles by Mr. Carson's nearness. Their two chairs were fairly close together, and there wasn't a table leg between them. Her knee bumped his as she shifted in her seat and he showed no reaction. He stared into the distance, apparently lost in his own thoughts. Mrs. Hughes wondered what he might be thinking of. Was he worrying? She hoped not, but it seemed likely. She stole a few glances at him and he looked like he was puzzling through some complex problem, not necessarily experiencing great anxiety. She turned back to her tea and enjoyed the warmth that seemed to radiate from him. She wasn't sure if it was real warmth or if she just felt it because she loved him. Anytime she had the chance to be alone with him, everything about him seemed almost to simmer, giving off a steady heat. Just now she wanted to rest her cheek on his shoulder, but she would never dare. He might take her hand or rest his on her shoulder, but she felt sure he would never tolerate behavior more intimate than that from her or anyone else. All the same, Mrs. Hughes thought it would comfort her to touch him. She wondered if she could, or if she could somehow prompt him to touch her.

"Another cup?" she finally asked, when she noticed that they had both emptied their cups. Mr. Carson came out of his reverie and nodded, holding his cup out to her. She poured and this time he fixed his own tea, and she hers. "What have you been thinking of, Mr. Carson? You've been far away. You're not worrying, are you?"

"Of course I'm worried," he replied. "But as for what else I'm thinking, I couldn't possibly say."

"Couldn't or wouldn't?" Mrs. Hughes persisted.

He turned and looked into her eyes. "Wouldn't. But I will tell you someday. Soon, I think."

She shook her head. "You're quite mysterious, Mr. Carson. But I can be patient."

"I hope it will not upset you," he mused.

"Upset me?" Mrs. Hughes asked doubtfully. "Curiouser and curiouser!"

Mr. Carson smiled at her quotation. "Are you in Wonderland, Mrs. Hughes?"

She laughed. "I hardly think so. But nearer Wonderland that I was at two o'clock, staring at the crack in my ceiling. Now I'm drinking tea in good company. You've even managed to make me laugh!"

Mr. Carson just smiled down at her. Mrs. Hughes felt warm and comforted by his smile and his presence; it was just as though she really had touched him. They didn't speak anymore, instead enjoying a companionable silence as they finished their tea. When they had finished, they sat just a little longer before Mr. Carson began to clear the tea things away. Mrs. Hughes objected, but he insisted that she stay where she was and that he would put everything away. Once he had left the room, she sat back in her chair and shook her head. She could make neither heads nor tails of his behavior. The only explanation she had, beyond the one she was afraid to consider, was that he was trying to comfort and care for her in her time of need. Whether or not that was his goal, he was succeeding at it. Mrs. Hughes was beginning to feel her accustomed strength returning. She would face whatever she must face later this morning and if she were really ill, she would face that as well.

Mr. Carson returned from the kitchen. "Isn't it time we were getting back to bed?" he asked from the doorway.

"Yes," she replied. "I think I might be able to sleep a little now. Thank you for sitting with me, Mr. Carson."

"I was glad to do it. You are good company as well, Mrs. Hughes."

She smiled as she rose from her chair and made her way to the maids' staircase. To her surprise, Mr. Carson followed her. He wished her good night and stayed at the bottom, watching her until she was out of sight. He switched off the light in the kitchen and made his way to his own room.

_To be continued..._


	5. Waking to Life

Mrs. Hughes didn't speak as she and Mrs. Patmore walked to the village, although she knew the cook was watching her. Occasionally Mrs. Patmore made an offhand remark about the weather or the wildflowers alongside the path, but Mrs. Hughes didn't answer. Mrs. Patmore wondered if her friend heard or saw anything as they walked. When they reached the hospital, they were directed to wait outside Dr. Clarkson's consulting room. It was the longest half hour of Mrs. Hughes's life. She stopped Mrs. Patmore from accompanying her into the doctor's office, wanting to be alone when she heard the news, be it good or bad.

She was ushered into Dr. Clarkson's office and he greeted her with a smile and invited her to sit down, which she did. He spoke without preamble. "Mrs. Hughes, I've received your results and you'll be glad to know that you do _not_ have cancer." Tears sprang to her eyes and she slumped slightly in her chair, so relieved that her body went limp. "The growth is a benign cyst, completely harmless."

"A benign cyst," she repeated softly.

"Yes. I'm very glad to know it myself, Mrs. Hughes. We've been acquainted for a long time, and I should hate to see you ill. Now if you need to sit there for a few minutes to compose yourself before you go, you are very welcome to stay. I have a little paperwork to do."

She nodded. "Not for long. I don't like to keep Mrs. Patmore out there worrying, but it may be a moment before my legs will work again."

Dr. Clarkson laughed as he made notations on a patient's chart. "Take whatever time you need. No one else is waiting."

"Thank you, Dr. Clarkson," Mrs. Hughes said. In about a half a minute, she was ready to face the world. She thanked the doctor again and left his office.

Mrs. Patmore stood as soon as the door opened. She searched her friend's face for some clue of the results. "Well?"

"It's a benign cyst," Mrs. Hughes told her.

"What's that mean?"

"It's not cancer." Now Mrs. Hughes smiled widely.

Mrs. Patmore sighed heavily and squeezed her friend's arm. "Thank God!"

The atmosphere as they walked home from the village was very different from that of their walk to the hospital. They talked about this and that, while Mrs. Hughes pondered her own future, and how facing her own mortality had changed her. She would never be the same after this. She had been ready to face death, and now she was not only going to _face_ life; she would take everything she could from it. She would be happy, even if it meant taking chances. Mrs. Hughes wondered at this rush of feeling that she felt and hoped that her resolution at least would last, even after the euphoria passed.

Suddenly a thought struck Mrs. Hughes. "You'll have to tell him."

Mrs. Patmore made a face. "What? No! You have to tell him. He knows that you know that he knows. There's no reason to hide."

"I know, I know," Mrs. Hughes said, now agitated. "But he knows that you know that I know that he knows, so _you _can tell him as well as I can. I just I can't do it."

"Why not?"

"I don't know," Mrs. Hughes answered helplessly. "But please tell him, Mrs. Patmore. I'll talk to him once he knows. I just can't tell him, and I can't explain it."

Mrs. Patmore sighed. "Fine, I'll do it. But I don't understand you."

"You don't have to understand me, Mrs. Patmore."

Before long they were in the yard. When they entered, Mrs. Hughes hung back while Mrs. Patmore went in search of Mr. Carson. After a minute or two her friend came back around the corner.

"Did you tell him?" Mrs. Hughes asked quietly.

"I would prefer to say… I put him out of his misery. He's polishing silver right now. Whether you go speak to him now or avoid him is your affair. I told him you were out in the yard; you needed to be alone a little longer."

Mrs. Hughes smiled. "Thank you."

Mrs. Patmore nodded and headed toward the kitchen.

Mrs. Hughes walked toward her sitting room, but was brought up short by an unusual sound. It was singing, she thought, and she followed the voice, curious as to who it was. What she found was Mr. Carson polishing silver, as Mrs. Patmore had told her, but he was also singing. It was a song she hadn't heard in some time. She stepped back a little so she had a good view of him, but in a position where it was unlikely he would know he was being observed.

'_Twas on a Monday morning  
When I beheld my darling  
She looked so neat and charming  
In every high degree  
She looked so neat and nimble, O  
A-hanging of her linen, O_

_Dashing away with the smoothing iron  
Dashing away with the smoothing iron  
She stole my heart away._

Mr. Carson finished up one of the silver trays and turned to put it away, but he tossed it in the air before setting it in its proper place. He had a smile on his face like Mrs. Hughes had never seen. She couldn't help smiling herself, though her eyes were a bit moist. She even laughed a little as she went to her sitting room and took off her hat and coat. Mrs. Hughes was still thinking of her decision to take more risks in life for the things that mattered most and the things that would make her happy. In spite of her return to the normalcy and routine of the house, her resolution did not falter. In fact, it seemed to strengthen, giving her a sense that no matter what happened next, she would feel happy just for having tried, for having taken a chance. Mr. Carson's singing decided her more firmly. She knew that he was singing for her. He was a man who hid his emotions, most of the time, and if he had felt even a fraction of what she had upon hearing the news of her good health, he would not know how to manage the welling up of relief and joy. Singing a song - and such a song! - was how he relieved the pressure of the strong emotion to which he was not accustomed. And to toss a silver tray in the air! If he had ever caught a footman treating the family silver in such a manner, the poor lad would have had the tongue-lashing of his life. Mrs. Hughes still could not make sense of his recent behavior, but surely all of it together meant that for some reason he was softening, and liberating some of his emotions, whatever they might be. It could only bode well for her planned pursuit. She meant to be quiet and subtle, to first determine how he felt, but though it was perhaps completely backwards, she intended to court the man she loved.

#####

After changing back into her uniform, Mrs. Hughes went about her day in the usual manner. Before dinner, she found Mr. Carson in his pantry, hard at work on some invoices, and she paused to watch him for a moment. Normally this task caused his brow to crease in concentration, but today a light smile crossed his face at intervals. Mrs. Hughes slipped into the room and sat in a chair facing his desk. He looked up at her and smiled. She couldn't help smiling back.

"Mrs. Patmore told me," Mr. Carson said quietly.

"Yes."

"What a relief to all of us."

"Mr. Carson," Mrs. Hughes began, suddenly feeling uneasy. "I really am sorry I didn't tell you sooner."

He shook his head, his expression turning serious. "No, I shouldn't have pressed you to tell me. It was your choice. I have no claim on your confidences, Mrs. Hughes."

"But you do," she said gravely. "You are my friend."

"I am," he answered. "And I hope you never doubt it."

"No, Mr. Carson, I never do."

They sat staring at one another, each breathless but unaware of the other's breathlessness.

There was a knock at the door. "Afternoon post, Mr. Carson," Alfred said, entering and handing a pile of letters to Mr. Carson. When he noticed Mrs. Hughes in the room, he handed her a few letters as well and left the room.

"Well, I'm sure you must be very busy, Mr. Carson," Mrs. Hughes said, rising from her chair.

Mr. Carson didn't want her to go, but he could hardly deny that he was busy. "Yes, I am. But I will see you soon, I am sure."

"Yes, you will," Mrs. Hughes said, a secret smile on her face.

_To be continued..._

**Thank you for all of your reviews and support. They mean a lot to me.**


	6. Waking to Love

After Mr. Carson seated the staff at dinner and the usual dinner chatter had risen enough to cover any conversation the butler and housekeeper might have, Mrs. Hughes began.

"I heard you singing earlier today," she said.

Mr. Carson flushed slightly. "How do you know it was me?"

"I saw you as well, so I'm quite certain."

"Well…" He looked a bit embarrassed.

"It was a lovely song," Mrs. Hughes said. "Quite a happy and bouncy tune. I haven't heard that one in a long while, but I do like it."

Mr. Carson recovered his composure. "I'm glad. I didn't think much about it. The tune was just the first one that sprang to my lips."

"I think you must have been singing about one of the laundry maids," she teased.

Mrs. Hughes hadn't flustered him as she had expected. He looked thoughtful and paused for a moment before answering, his eyes on her. "No, I was thinking of someone else. Someone who always looks so neat and charming, to every high degree."

Mrs. Hughes almost choked on the bite she had just taken and looked at him questioningly, wonderingly. "Does she?" she replied weakly.

"Yes," he said quietly. "She sometimes dashes away from me, though not with a smoothing iron." Mrs. Hughes was glad that she hadn't been about to swallow another bite of her dinner. Mr. Carson had knocked the breath out of her. She didn't know how to answer. She hoped he would speak again. Before anything else could be said, though, the library bell rang, and Mr. Carson had to answer it.

"I'd better be going, then," he said regretfully. "If I don't see you again this evening, Mrs. Hughes, I wish you pleasant dreams."

Mrs. Hughes could only nod in response. She watched him climb the stairs until he was out of sight. She wasn't hungry, but she finished her dinner anyway. Her plan had been to court Mr. Carson, in whatever odd ways she could find, but it seemed _he_ very well might be pursuing _her_.

#####

Mrs. Hughes went to her sitting room after dinner and stayed there, trying and failing to get a little work done, on her ledgers or her rotas. It mattered little, however. She was caught up on all of her work; her main purpose was to wait for the others to go to bed and for Mr. Carson to come down after the family were in bed and no longer required his attendance. Luck was on her side. As soon as the last of the other staff had straggled up to the attic, Mr. Carson came down after an early evening with the family. She let him go into his pantry and then followed him.

"I think I may know whom you mean," Mrs. Hughes said as she entered. "She's very flattered that you think she looks so neat and charming."

He smiled slightly. "Would you like a glass of wine, Mrs. Hughes?"

"Yes, that sounds marvelous," she replied, taking her usual seat. Mrs. Hughes had long ago given in on the argument they had often had over who would get the more comfortable armchair in his pantry. Mr. Carson insisted that she take it, while he used the wooden, straight-backed chair, when she wished him to take the other, or at least that they alternate use of the soft, comfortable chair. He had prevailed completely, a rare occasion in their twenty-odd year acquaintance. He poured the wine and sat down with his glass after handing one to her.

After a few sips in silence, he returned to the conversation she had begun upon her entrance. "I think her neat and charming, and many other things as well, but I'm afraid I don't know what she really thinks of me."

Mrs. Hughes smiled. "Well, to start with, she thinks you have a lovely singing voice."

He sat back in his chair, smiling. He was willing to continue in this line, at least for a little while. "What else does she say of me?"

"That you are very kind and that you take care of your friends," she answered, beginning to feel a little uncertain.

"Anything else?" he prompted.

"Only that she...she-"

"Mrs. Hughes," Mr. Carson interrupted. "We have been talking about someone else all day, this imaginary laundry maid, but I should like to be frank with you. I would like to talk about you, and about me."

Mrs. Hughes looked him straight in the eye, though she wasn't sure how she managed it. Her confident demeanor hid a pounding heart and a quivering stomach. "I am happy to listen to anything you have to say."

Mr. Carson shifted in his seat and took a few deep breaths. "I won't press you, if your wishes do not match mine. But the truth is, Mrs. Hughes, I… I… Well, I-"

"She loves you," Mrs. Hughes interrupted, a little more loudly than she intended. "That is… _I_ love you. Does that make it easier for you?"

Mr. Carson looked at her, a little stunned. "Well, yes, I think so."

"And?" She raised her eyebrows.

He relaxed and smiled. "And… I love you, too."

Each stayed seated in their chairs. "I wonder if we should do something about it," Mrs. Hughes commented.

"Why of course we must!" Mr. Carson exclaimed.

"Oh?" Mrs. Hughes said. "And what is that?"

"A great many things," he answered gravely. "But I think first I should kiss you. Or you should kiss me. Or we should-"

"Do stop talking, Mr. Carson," Mrs. Hughes said, standing and pulling him to his feet. "It doesn't matter who kisses whom, as long as you and I are the two parties concerned." She took his face between her hands and pulled his head down gently. When their lips met, Mr. Carson seemed to wake from his serious mood and he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. She moved her hands from his face down to caress him through the front of starched shirt he wore every evening, savoring the feel of his chest moving in and out with his every breath. Mr. Carson loved the way she fit so well in his arms. More than anything else, though, he was thinking of the feel of her lips on his. He didn't think he could find the right words to describe the feeling. Her lips were soft and firm and silky and moving and… Mr. Carson realized he was thinking too much and let go of trying to describe and define what he was feeling. He simply kissed the woman he loved with all the love he felt for her.

Mrs. Hughes wasn't thinking very much, only feeling. Love, joy, relief, and longing overwhelmed her. It was all more than she had ever hoped for, and so soon after making her resolution to carry out her subtle pursuit of Mr. Carson. She pulled him closer by the lapels of his coat and he began kissing her neck. Mr. Carson had a bit of stubble and she moaned at the ticklishly arousing way it lightly scratched her skin. Mrs. Hughes buried her hands in his hair, scratching his scalp with her fingernails, which made him growl. She felt hot and agitated, in a pleasant way, but she wasn't sure how to relieve this agitation.

"Mr. Carson," she whispered.

"You should call me Charles," he replied, moving his lips back up to her mouth.

"Charles," she whispered just before he kissed her again.

"Yes, Elsie?" His breathing was labored and his hands wandered over her body, pressing and squeezing her flesh.

"You said there are a great many things we should do, now that we've had this… discussion," she said, trying to catch her breath. "What comes next?"

"Well, I'd hoped for a more romantic moment, but I'd like you to marry me."

"That's quite convenient, Charles, because I'd like _you_ to marry _me_." She dragged him closer and gave him a smoldering kiss.

Mr. Carson returned her kiss with equal fervor, then began to drop kisses all over her face. He let her go for a moment, took her hand, and led her to his chair. He sat down and held out one arm to her, the other hand patting his leg. She understood and sat down on his lap, leaning her head against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her and squeezed her so tightly against him that she could barely breathe. "I was so afraid, Elsie," he whispered into her hair. "I was afraid I would lose you. I can't do without you."

"So you've said," Mrs. Hughes gasped.

Mr. Carson loosened his hold on her just enough so she could breathe properly. "What do you mean?"

She spoke in a low voice. "When I came to wake you from your nightmare, you were calling out to me. 'Mrs. Hughes, please don't go. Elsie, I can't do without you.'"

"Do you know, Elsie, that the next morning I almost thought that your visit that night was a figment of my imagination? I thought my nightmare had been followed by another dream of you waking me from it, and being so kind."

"Did you? And what convinced you that it was real?"

Mr. Carson reached into his waistcoat pocket and pulled something out. "This. I found it on my bedroom floor the next morning." It was the button she had dropped.

Mrs. Hughes took it from his fingers. "That's where it got off to! And you've been carrying it around since then?" She was amused.

"I wasn't sure what to do with it at first," Mr. Carson answered sheepishly. "I couldn't very well hand it back to you at the breakfast table."

"Certainly not!" she laughed.

"After that I found I didn't want to give it up. But you can have it back now. I don't need to hold your button when I can hold you."

Mrs. Hughes handed the button back to him. "You keep it for now. I've already found another and replaced it. Think of it as my promise to marry you. I'll take it back the day before we marry and sew it somewhere on the inside of my wedding clothes." She smiled.

Mr. Carson kissed her lips. "You are wonderfully clever, you know."

"Of course I am," she answered pertly. "I'm going to marry you, aren't I? That's about the cleverest thing a woman could do."

"You may be right," he teased. "That must make me the cleverest man in the world."

"I hope that was a compliment," Mrs. Hughes replied laughingly.

"Of course it is," he said seriously. "I'm clever for loving a woman with such exquisite feet."

"Feet?" She was surprised.

"And that beautiful shoulder." He kissed her shoulder.

"You're making me blush, Charles."

"And the loveliest wrist I ever saw," Mr. Carson continued, kissing the inside of her wrist. "As well as many other marvelous parts, I'm sure."

Mrs. Hughes buried her face in his chest. "Stop!"

He smiled. "Very well. For now." Mr. Carson let silence reign for a few moments before speaking again. "I would have married you, you know, no matter what the doctor said," he replied gravely. "That is, if you would have let me."

Mrs. Hughes bit her lip, holding back tears at his quiet declaration. She was thoughtful for a moment. "I think I would have tried to refuse you," she admitted. "But I'm not sure I could have resisted you in the end."

"I'm glad to hear it." He smiled.

"I love you, you daft man," she said, kissing his cheek.

"I love you, too, you daft woman." Mr. Carson kissed her lips passionately before she could answer, though he felt her smile against his lips.

_To be continued..._

**Thank you for all of your reviews and support.**


	7. Awake to the Risk

"We'll have to tell his lordship," Mr. Carson said to Mrs. Hughes, as soon as they sat down to breakfast.

"I agree. The sooner the better."

"Today?" he asked.

"Today is perfect, if he can spare us time for a meeting."

"Mrs. Hughes, in case this doesn't go well, I'd like you to know that..." He paused and looked around for eavesdroppers, but Mr. Barrow and Miss O'Brien had both been summoned early, thank heaven. "I have a respectable sum of money put by should we be sent away."

"Do you think his lordship will cast us out?"

"I'm not sure. I don't think he'll sack us on the spot. But once the event takes place, there is a strong possibility that he will not consider our situation suitable."

"Well, I can pack all of my things in significantly less than three weeks if necessary. But Mr. Carson," Mrs. Hughes said in a low voice. "How will you manage leaving Downton? Are you quite sure?"

He frowned at her. "Do you think Downton is more important to me than you are?" he asked indignantly.

"No. Not now you've said it like that." She could not suppress a brilliant smile.

"We'll be married in three weeks or less, whether his lordship approves or not. We'll go to see Mr. Travis right after we meet with him."

"I'm glad you're in as much of a rush as I am," Mrs. Hughes chuckled.

Mr. Carson took a last bite of toast and gulped down the rest of his tea. "I'll go speak to his lordship right now about a meeting and then come find you."

She nodded. "I'll be going up to check the main floor rooms in a minute, so that's where you will probably find me."

Mr. Carson leaned in close to whisper in her ear. "I wish I could kiss you." He rose from his seat.

"Three weeks," Mrs. Hughes reminded him.

#####

Mr. Carson walked into the library at the appointed time, just after the upstairs breakfast, and Mrs. Hughes entered after him, as though she were someone important who needed to be announced. Mr. Carson didn't announce her, of course. They walked together to where Lord and Lady Grantham were sitting face to face on the two sofas near the fireplace.

"Punctual as always," Lord Grantham said pleasantly.

"What's this?" asked Lady Grantham.

"Carson and Mrs. Hughes have asked to speak to me," the earl said.

"Should I go, then?" his wife asked, looking back and forth between her husband and Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes. "Is it a private meeting?"

"No, it is not, your ladyship," Mr. Carson answered. "What we have to say affects you as well, so you are welcome to stay."

"Well, Carson?" Lord Grantham prompted.

Mr. Carson looked at Mrs. Hughes and she smiled. He looked back at Lord Grantham. "There is no easy way to tell you this, milord, so I will just say it outright. Mrs. Hughes and I are going to be married and we'd like your permission to stay on at Downton afterwards," he said.

Both the earl and countess were silent, their mouths dropping open in surprise. After a moment, their expressions had changed. Lady Grantham had a slightly bewildered but happy expression on her face; the earl's expression registered his displeasure.

"Carson, you can't mean that," he said.

"I do, milord. Mrs. Hughes accepted my proposal yesterday and we wish to be married as soon as possible."

Lady Grantham spoke up. "Well, congratulations to you, Carson, and to you Mrs. Hughes."

Lord Grantham stood, but he did not follow his wife's example. "I can't believe this of you, Carson. How long has this been going on? I'm appalled to know that my butler and housekeeper have been carrying on together while they were the supposed moral leaders of the staff."

Mrs. Hughes was angry, but tried to moderate her tone. "I can assure you there was nothing of that sort going on, milord. We've been fond of one another for many years, but only discovered yesterday that our feelings coincided. Nothing improper has occurred."

"I'm afraid I cannot condone this kind of behavior," Lord Grantham said sternly. "And a married butler and housekeeper? Complete foolishness."

"Robert, please," Lady Grantham argued. "What would be so dreadful about them being married? We could easily arrange for rooms for them near the servants' quarters."

Lord Grantham paused for a moment. "I suggest a compromise. I won't tolerate a married butler and housekeeper, but one of you may stay on. I suppose I can stomach a married butler or… no. I could never accept a married housekeeper as part of my staff. Mrs. Hughes will have to go. I'll give you a cottage to share."

"Robert!" Lady Grantham exclaimed, shocked. "They'll barely see each other!"

"It's just not done, Cora."

Lady Grantham rolled her eyes. "It only isn't done until someone does it!"

Lord Grantham was obstinate. "Carson, you may marry if you like, but once you and Mrs. Hughes are united in matrimony, she will no longer be employed by the Crawley family."

"Robert!" Lady Grantham protested. "Please be reasonable!"

"No," Mr. Carson intoned firmly. "I thank you for your advocacy, your ladyship, but I will not stay where my wife is not welcome. We will continue our work here, but once our wedding takes place we will both leave."

Lord and Lady Grantham said nothing as the couple left the library together. The earl's expression remained intractable, while the countess looked almost heartbroken, then extremely angry as she turned her eyes on her husband.

#####

Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes had requested, and been granted, the entire day off, in order to take care of some important business related to their marriage and departure. A very angry Lady Grantham had not asked her husband's permission before giving her approval to their request. Once they were gone and Lord Grantham learned of it, a quarrel of epic proportions erupted in the drawing room between the earl and countess. Mr. Crawley and Lady Mary were about to enter when they heard shouting. Mr. Crawley thought better of it and went to the library, but his wife showed no hesitation in listening at the door. What she heard shocked her, and as the argument was winding down, she went to the library in search of her husband. She found him reading a newspaper.

"Is everything all right?" he asked, concerned.

"No, it is not, and when I tell you what has happened, you will be just as angry at Papa as Mama is!"

Mr. Crawley put down his newspaper. "Goodness! Calm down and come tell me about it." He patted the seat next to him.

Lady Mary was fuming, but she took a few deep breaths as she sat down beside him. "It's quite a story, but I can relate it in just a few sentences. Carson and Mrs. Hughes are going to be married. They asked permission to stay on at Downton after they are married and Papa won't tolerate it. They will stay until they marry, and then they will be gone!"

Mr. Crawley was staring at her, wide-eyed. "I can't decide which part of that story is more incredible!"

Lady Mary laughed. "Nor I! I had no idea there was any particular affection between them. I am shocked that Papa would drive them out. And Carson leaving Downton! I can't believe it!"

"He must love her very much," Mr. Crawley observed.

Lady Mary looked thoughtful. "Yes. He must."

"I think the best we can hope for is that they will choose to live in the village," Mr. Crawley said. "I should hate for you to lose Carson entirely. I know how much he means to you, Mary."

"Yes, well, he must do what is best for himself and his bride," she answered brusquely, brushing away a few tears. "And we… we must be happy for them."

#####

The meeting with Mr. Travis was short and to the point. The banns would be read for the first time the following Sunday and they would be married in less than three weeks.

"Arabella will take us in if we can't find a place to live at such short notice," Mrs. Hughes said, pulling on her gloves as they left the vicarage.

"I wouldn't like to impose on your sister," Mr. Carson said.

"She won't mind," Mrs. Hughes assured him. "Although I do hope it's not for long. We won't have much privacy there."

"We will certainly take a wedding trip before we move anywhere, be it Lytham St Annes, Downton, or somewhere else."

Mrs. Hughes smiled. "Oh, wonderful. Where?"

"It doesn't matter much to me," Mr. Carson answered. "We can't afford to leave Britain, but otherwise all I require is that I get to be alone with you as much as possible."

"Mmmm, sounds perfect."

_To be continued..._

**They've hit a bit of a stumbling block, but our favorite couple will be happy no matter where they are, as long as they're together.  
**


	8. Waking and Sleeping

Before the day was out the news had spread downstairs. The servants' hall went silent when Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes entered for dinner. After Mr. Carson seated the staff and sat down himself, the gathered company would normally have fallen into conversation, but all that could be heard was the ticking of the clock and Ivy's steady progress down the table serving up the stew. All eyes were trained on the butler and housekeeper. Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes exchanged a glance. They had not discussed how to go about making their announcement to the staff, but it seemed as though at least part of their story had gotten about. She inclined her head in his direction and he nodded; they had learned years ago how to speak without words.

Mr. Carson opened his mouth to speak, but Mr. Molesley was there before him. "Is it all really true, Mr. Carson?" he asked in disbelief. "Is his lordship really turning you out?"

"Oh, it's true all right," Miss O'Brien answered. "And her ladyship isn't too happy about it, neither. I hope you have his lordship's dressing room bed made up, Mr. Barrow. He'll certainly be needing it tonight."

"That's enough." Mr. Carson quelled her with a wave of his hand. "It is true that Mrs. Hughes and I will be married in three weeks. I hope you all will be happy for us."

"But must you really leave Downton Abbey?" Anna questioned.

"I'm afraid we must," Mrs. Hughes answered quietly.

"But why?" Ivy asked.

"His lordship prefers his butler and housekeeper unmarried," Mrs. Hughes replied.

"His housekeeper unmarried, more like!" Miss O'Brien piped up. "He'd have kept Mr. Carson on if Mrs. Hughes had agreed to retire."

"But you're both leaving." Mr. Barrow eyed them speculatively.

Mr. Carson's face reddened as he grew irritated by the open discussion of his personal affairs. "I've said it once today and I will say it again and have done. I will not stay where my wife is not welcome," he replied, his voice rising. "Now each of you will find some other topic of conversation or keep quiet."

The room was silent for a little while, but soon enough the usual hum of conversation rose. Mr. Carson might have been able to quiet them on the topic for the rest of the meal, but he knew that would not mean the end of all gossip on the subject. However, he was fairly satisfied. He could hardly expect the staff not to discuss it at all, and he felt he had acquainted them with as much of the truth as they needed to know. Mr. Carson started eating, but when he perceived that Mrs. Hughes was not doing the same, he looked in her direction and found her watching him. Her hands lay in her lap, her food untouched, and she smiled openly at him. He expected her to bite her lip at any moment, to hide or subdue her smile, but he was glad when she did not. Mr. Carson paused, his spoon resting in his bowl, and smiled back at Mrs. Hughes, trying to read the play of emotion across her features. He could not interpret most of her expressions, but he could easily see that she was happy and that she loved him. Mr. Carson looked forward to the time, three weeks hence, when he would be at leisure and at liberty to study her face as much as he liked, once the final barrier between them had been broken and they were man and wife. Mrs. Hughes herself couldn't have described everything that was passing through her heart and mind at the moment, except that she was happy and that she loved him. The crowd dissolved around them and they were alone together at the table. It was only when conversation among the staff had dwindled to silence that the pair was once again aware that they were in company and under scrutiny. Mr. Carson looked down at his soup and lifted another bite to his mouth. Mrs. Hughes took a sip of wine and suddenly found a spot on the ceiling extremely interesting.

From the kitchen, Mrs. Patmore could hear, but not see, the progress of the meal taking place in the servants' hall. Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes had already put her in possession of the principal facts, but she was going to have to question Ivy about the cycle of noise and silence, in quick succession, taking place in the other room. When Ivy returned to the kitchen, however, Mrs. Patmore made a quick recalculation. _Best speak to Anna later if you want to know anything worth knowing,_ she told herself. Ivy did well enough as a kitchen maid, but she certainly wasn't the most observant girl in the world.

#####

Mrs. Hughes sat on the edge of her bed in her nightgown, dressing gown, and slippers. She had dressed hastily for bed and had now given herself a quarter of an hour to sit and wait, before she set her audacious plan into motion. The time passed more quickly than she expected and soon she was putting the key in the lock of the dividing door. Somehow, in spite of her shaking hands, she managed to open it silently and make her way to Mr. Carson's room. She put her hand on the door knob, pausing only a moment before opening it. Mrs. Hughes might have had trouble finding his lamp the other night, but she could easily find his bed in the dark, after all of the times she had cared for him when he was ill over the years. She had heard his gasp when she first opened the door, so she knew he was still awake. She walked to the bed and pulled back his blankets.

"Move over," she whispered. He obliged, as much as was possible. She climbed into bed with him, only able to fit by lying on her side and wrapping her arm around him.

"Elsie, what are you doing here?" Mr. Carson whispered.

"What do you think? I'm seducing you."

He took in a shaking breath. He found her frankness both startling and enchanting. "I'm afraid you'll find it disappointingly easy, Elsie."

Mrs. Hughes didn't answer, only began kissing his jaw and throat as she slowly unbuttoned his pajama top. He was still for a few moments before he pulled her to lay on top of him and kissed her soundly.

"You're leaving Downton for me, my darling," she wondered.

He smiled in the darkness. "I am."

"I'm very honored."

"I'm honored, too, that you will be my wife."

"I don't know if I can say how much it means to me that you refused his lordship's offer."

"It wasn't much of an offer - I could marry you or I could see you, but not both."

"All the same, I know it will be difficult for you to leave after so many years with the Crawleys."

"Then I suppose you must find ways to make it less… difficult for me," he whispered wickedly. In the dark he untied the ribbon that kept her hair in its neat plait and unbound it all, his hands tangling in the soft strands that spilled over both of them.

And so they made love, in Mr. Carson's tiny bed. It was a fumbling affair at first; Mrs. Hughes, in spite of having initiated the seduction, was shy about Mr. Carson seeing her naked, so she intended for everything to take place in the dark. However, after she had twice almost fallen out of the bed, she gave up and turned on the lamp. It was a little better after that, though by no means effortless. Neither was short on desire, but the same could not be said for their experience. Still, there was nothing that could not be figured out between two intelligent people willing to laugh at themselves a little. Mrs. Hughes was almost entirely silent, her moans only whispers. Mr. Carson almost succeeded at staying quiet, though there were a few moments in which he could not help letting out a few soft groans. Later, when their circumstances did not restrict their intimacies to silence, they occasionally made love in this way anyway, to remember their first time together, laughing at themselves in the dim light as they rolled and tumbled toward rapture and delirium in a bed certainly not made for two people. After Mrs. Hughes had lain for a half hour, weak-kneed and out of breath, draped over Mr. Carson's body, she found her scattered clothing, dressed, and made her way back to her own room, smiling in secret delight. As for Mr. Carson, he fell asleep before Mrs. Hughes had even left his room and slept more soundly than he had in years.

_To be continued..._


	9. Waking Together

Several months later, in a small cottage on the outskirts of Downton village, Mrs. Carson was in the kitchen fixing tea when her husband returned from running some errands in the village. Mr. Carson sat down heavily in a chair and absentmindedly watched her go about her business.

"Tea in a few minutes, Charles," she said, turning away from the stove. "Whatever's the matter?" she asked, when she noticed the befuddled expression on his face.

"The strangest thing has just happened to us, Elsie."

"To us?" she questioned, frowning. "I've been here all day."

Mr. Carson shook his head and looked at his wife, more composed now.

"Come sit down, dear," he told her, nudging a chair out from under the table with his foot. She sat. "You know I went to pay this quarter's rent, don't you?"

"Yes, Charles."

"Well, it seems there is no rent owing."

"Why not?"

"We have a mysterious benefactor, or benfactress, as it may be."

"Lady Mary's paid our rent, I suppose?" Mrs. Carson conjectured.

"I don't know who's done it, but Elsie, it's more than that."

"What do you mean, Charles? For heaven's sake, don't beat around the bush!"

"Elsie, we've no rent owing, because someone's bought this cottage outright, in our names."

Her eyes grew wide. "There must be some mistake."

"No mistake, I assure you. I must have said that very thing at least half a dozen times when Mr. Martin told me of it. And it seems it was supposed to be quite anonymous - he was sworn to secrecy, although he didn't know himself who it was; he was paid entirely with twenty-pound notes. He did give me a few clues that have done nothing whatsoever to help me make it out."

"What did he tell you?"

"It was a woman, he said, dressed like a housemaid."

"A housemaid!" Mrs. Carson exclaimed. "It must have been a disguise. No housemaid could afford to buy a cottage."

"Certainly not," Mr. Carson replied. "Mr. Martin said she spoke with a posh accent and barely above a whisper, to avoid giving away her identity, I suppose. She was also wearing a hat shrouded with layers of black veil."

"Did he say if she was tall or short?"

"Most definitely not tall, though not extraordinarily short for a woman."

"That rules out her ladyship and Lady Mary, then."

He nodded. "I wish I could have seen the housemaid's uniform. I would have known if it was borrowed from Downton or elsewhere in the village."

"So we have a woman of medium height with a posh accent who is either our benefactress herself or acting for someone else," Mrs. Carson summarized.

"So it would seem."

"Are you terribly upset, Charles?"

"Upset? What do you mean?"

"Oh, you know, because you aren't taking care of your wife without help from anyone else."

"I would be, if I knew who I could be upset with!" he answered, but laughed.

"Although if it were Lady Mary, I suspect she would have had her way in the end," Mrs. Carson teased, getting up to take the kettle off the stove. "Anyway, without rent due every quarter, perhaps a second honeymoon is in order."

"You're taking this quite lightly, Elsie."

"And how else should I take it?" she challenged him, placing all of the tea things on a tray. "There's no use in fidgeting and twiddling over it. It seems we don't have much choice in the matter."

"We really don't, do we?" he mused.

"Without identifying the agent, we can never have any hope of finding out who's done this. I imagine if you questioned the ladies at the Abbey they would deny any knowledge of the affair, though there seems little doubt that our good fortune comes from that direction. They tried very hard to talk his lordship into giving us a cottage on the estate, even though we were leaving our jobs."

"Well," he said gravely. "I do like the idea of a second honeymoon, but I think I will also have to spoil my wife. She won't use her _own_ money to buy a fancy dress or two like I keep suggesting."

"Charles, where on earth would I go in a fancy dress? To the bakery?" She set the tray on the table. "We never really go anywhere. We're quite snug in our little cottage."

"We'll just have to find somewhere to go. What about the theatre in York?" he suggested, grasping at the idea enthusiastically.

"Sounds a little spontaneous for you, Charles."

"I didn't say tonight!" he exclaimed, and she laughed at him. "You love to tease me, don't you?"

"You're just now discovering that?"

"I understand," he said, with mock gruffness. "My wife doesn't respect me."

She walked over to him and perched on his lap. "I could never love a man I didn't respect," she told him seriously.

"You just like to tease him," he persisted.

"And you love me for it," she declared, kissing his cheek.

Mr. Carson couldn't help grinning. "I suppose I do." He pulled her close and kissed her lips firmly. The tea sat forgotten on the tray.

#####

An hour or so later, Mr. Carson woke up from a light sleep and looked down at his dozing wife. He was accustomed to it now, but after they were married he had shocked himself by falling out of decades of routine quite easily. He rose in the morning about an hour later than he had while in service, but he had also discovered that an afternoon nap was one of retirement's unexpected joys, whether he was alone or with Mrs. Carson. The first time they had tumbled into bed together before teatime, she had laughed at his almost unconscious protest that they shouldn't make love while the sun shone. He had no answer when she demanded a reason, and after that encounter he felt that if it was all the adventure he ever experienced in life, it would be enough; it was altogether delicious. Her skin glowed in the sun now, as she slept in his arms, and Mr. Carson started to count her eyelashes, dark against her pale complexion. Before he could finish, she gave a great yawn and opened her eyes.

"We've missed our tea, Charles," she commented sleepily.

"We have. Again."

Mrs. Carson laughed. "It's become rather a habit, hasn't it?"

"Perhaps we should change our teatime," he suggested.

"Maybe." She yawned again and snuggled against Mr. Carson. He kissed her forehead and she smiled.

"Going back to sleep, love?"

"I might. Every time I go to sleep with you is another time I get to wake with you."

"I hadn't thought of it like that before. But you're right, Elsie."

"I'm always right," she murmured.

"Only until I get hungry, love, and I leave you to wake alone while I go in search of something to eat."

"I am a slave to my husband's appetites," she lamented, her eyes twinkling.

He laughed at this. "I'm just as much a slave to yours, Elsie."

"You certainly are," she said with satisfaction, sitting up and kissing his mouth lightly. She climbed out of bed and began collecting her discarded clothing. "Now are you getting up, or do you plan to lie about all day? It's time we had something to eat and if you think I'm bringing your dinner to you in bed you are fooling yourself." She shook her head and clicked her tongue. "I'm sure I don't know how I got saddled with such a lazy husband."

Mr. Carson chuckled and shook his head, sitting up in bed. He watched her dress before he collected his own clothing and followed suit.

_To be continued..._

**Thank you all for your reviews and support.**


	10. Waking Happily Ever After

**Last chapter. Enjoy!**

Mr. Carson was in the parlor absorbed in a newspaper when Mrs. Carson pulled aside the curtain and looked out the front window. "Looks like we've got a visitor from the Abbey, Charles. One of his lordship's cars just pulled up."

"I wonder who it might be." He put down the newspaper and donned his jacket, which lay over the back of the settee.

Mrs. Carson's mouth dropped open in surprise and she let the curtain fall back in place, her hands suddenly busy smoothing her skirts and making sure her hair was tidy. Before she found her voice to give her husband some warning, he had opened the door.

"Your lordship!" To say that Mr. Carson was surprised to see the Lord Grantham on the doorstep of his cottage would have been an understatement.

Mrs. Carson joined her dumbfounded husband at the door. "Won't you come in, your lordship?" she greeted the earl, gesturing for him to enter. He looked uncomfortable, but there was no trace of hostility or anger in his expression. He went with Mrs. Carson into the parlor and Mr. Carson closed the door and followed them. "Can I get you some tea?" she asked.

"No, no," he answered. "Please don't trouble yourself. And do sit down, both of you."

Mr. and Mrs. Carson hesitated, but when Lord Grantham took the armchair, they sat together on the settee.

Silence reigned for a few moments before the earl spoke again. "Carson, Mrs. Carson, I've come here to apologize. I behaved abominably all those months ago. I've shown you both great disrespect in a number of ways and I hope it is not too late to make amends."

"It is never too late for that, milord," Mr. Carson intoned. "If we part today as friends, I see no need for any other amends to be made."

"I can't agree with you there, Carson, although I am grateful to find you so forgiving. I want to offer you a cottage on the Downton estate, if you would care to take one."

"That's very generous of you, milord," Mrs. Carson told him.

"Not really," he replied. "It's what I ought to have offered in the first place. I had intended to provide two cottages, had you retired separately as Carson and Mrs. Hughes."

"Be that as it may, we have no need for a cottage," Mrs. Carson answered. "We're quite snug here and a mysterious benefactor has purchased it in Mr. Carson's and my names."

Mr. Carson's eyebrows drew together. "I don't suppose your lordship had anything to do with that?"

"Of course not!" Lord Grantham exclaimed. "It couldn't have been me; it was a woman who paid Mr. Martin for-" The earl realized that he had given himself away and stopped. Mr. and Mrs. Carson looked at him in surprise. "Well, it seems I'm no good at keeping secrets."

Mrs. Carson could not contain her curiosity. "If I may ask, milord, who was the woman? Mr. Martin's description ruled out her ladyship and Lady Mary, but we were otherwise entirely puzzled."

"Lady Edith was my co-conspirator, and the only member of the family who knows of it. The maid's uniform was her idea."

"She's very clever," Mrs. Carson said with a smile.

"She is," Lord Grantham agreed. "It was she who urged me to come here. She thought that to be on good terms again would mean as much to you as the cottage."

"Quite right," Mr. Carson assented. "But I'm afraid we can't accept such a gift from your lordship," Mr. Carson put in gravely. His wife was unsurprised that he balked at the gift, but she suspected the earl would dig in his heels as well.

"It's not a gift, Carson," he argued. "It's nothing more than what I promised you years ago."

"But a home for life is very different from ownership of this cottage, to do with as we please, milord."

"And I ought to have given you each a retirement settlement, besides your two cottages for life. You've not only both served the Crawleys faithfully for years, but you've done it better than anyone else ever could have done."

"But the value of this home is such that-"

"Carson, if you continue to refuse what is owing to you, know that I will not hesitate to confide in Lady Mary, who I'm certain will visit you this very day. Even if _I _am unable to prevail upon you, I know that _she_ will not fail."

Mr. Carson looked disconcerted and his wife was hard pressed not to laugh out loud. He was a stubborn man, but he knew his own weaknesses. There were two women in the world, both very stubborn themselves, to whom he could refuse nothing, try though he might, and Lady Mary was one of them. The two men sat eye to eye, each mulish in his own way, though there was no longer any ill will between them. Mrs. Carson watched the scene with interest.

"Very well, milord," Mr. Carson acquiesced. "It will be as you wish."

"Good. I'm glad."

"If you don't mind my asking, what changed your lordship's mind, months after we'd gone?" Mrs. Carson inquired, her curiosity once more getting the better of her.

"I was dining in London," Lord Grantham mused to Mrs. Carson. "I was just on my own in town for a few days, but for some reason as I sat alone in a restaurant, I had a little daydream of taking her ladyship there. The maitre d' prepared a table for me, but refused to serve my wife. I can't think when I've had an odder daydream, but it made me think. What would I do if that ever happened? Naturally I would go elsewhere, and likely put the news about that the Countess of Grantham had been refused service there. That's just what Carson did when I refused to keep you on if you were married, though I am not aware of his having spoken a word against me."

"Nor have I, milord," Mr. Carson declared.

"I'm sure the rest of the Crawleys would think me a fool for taking so long to see just what I've done, and they would be right."

"I do hope it is some consolation to the Crawleys that Mr. Carson and I have been quite happy in retirement," Mrs. Carson assured him. "We have found it even more to our taste than either of us expected."

"Especially me," Mr. Carson put in. "I could not imagine what life would be like without work, but when I suddenly found myself living this very different life, I found it suited me very well."

"In no small part due to the presence of your good wife, I'm sure." The earl smiled pleasantly.

"Certainly," Mr. Carson agreed, looking over at Mrs. Carson. "I couldn't do without her." His voice had softened and he smiled at her, his eyes twinkling.

Lord Grantham cleared his throat. "Well," he floundered, uncomfortable at seeing his usually impassive former butler with such an expression of open affection on his face. "I'm afraid I must be going now. But I'm glad that we've had this talk."

Mr. Carson was shaken, a little embarrassed, out of his reverie by the earl standing up from his seat and he and Mrs. Carson stood as well. Lord Grantham shook hands with husband and wife and Mr. Carson saw him out. When he returned to the parlor, he flopped down gracelessly on the settee beside his wife.

"Well!" It was all he could think of to say.

"Indeed!" Mrs. Carson agreed.

"Elsie."

"Yes?"

"It's teatime, isn't it?"

"Yes, Charles, I believe it is."

They rose from their seats and made their way, hand-in-hand, to the bedroom.

#####

"Has it really been that long since you've been to London, Elsie?"

"Of course. Why else would I have said so?" Mrs. Carson watched London pass by through the cab window. "What's this hotel you've booked for us?"

"Nothing fashionable, but a nice place, and quite reasonable, although I did splurge on one thing."

"Oh?"

"An en suite bathroom. I've never stayed anywhere that offered one of those."

"Nor I. I think I shall feel quite decadent." Mrs. Carson smiled, still looking out the window.

"You deserve to be spoiled, Elsie."

"Then it's a good thing I married you, Charles. I don't think Mrs. Hughes would have enjoyed retirement quite as much as I do."

Mr. Carson moved over on the seat so he could look out of the window over her shoulder. "What do you see out there that is so wonderful?"

"Nothing in particular, except that it's not at all like the Yorkshire countryside."

"Well, that's certain." Mrs. Carson shivered a bit at her husband's voice in her ear and his breath on her neck. "We're almost to the hotel, love," he told her. "And I think it's about teatime, don't you?"

"Perhaps," she teased. "Though I am rather tired. I might prefer a nap over tea."

He growled a little, but answered pleasantly. "Perhaps I would, too."

"When do we go to the theatre, Charles?" Mrs. Carson would have liked to turn around and kiss her husband soundly rather than making inane conversation, but she didn't feel quite capable of going that far in the back of a cab driving through London. Anyone might see them.

"Tomorrow night. Have you brought that fancy dress I told you to buy?"

"Certainly I have."

"Well, I look forward to having you on my arm when we go out tomorrow evening." He lowered his voice to a whisper. "And after the play I look forward to removing that fancy dress."

"No more of that, please, until we're alone," Mrs. Carson scolded, blushing.

"I'll try, but I don't know how well I'll succeed," he said. "I find I quite like whispering naughty things in your ear."

She turned around and pushed him back to his side of the seat. "Very well, but I can give back as good as I get," she replied mischievously, then leaned in to whisper in his ear. "When we get to our hotel room and the door is locked, those trousers will be the first things to go."

Mr. Carson went a bit pink, but was otherwise unruffled. "As you wish, dearest," he returned smugly.

"I do so wish." Mrs. Carson's lips smiled and her eyes laughed as she looked at her husband. Impulsively, she kissed his cheek. Before she could settle back into her seat, however, Mr. Carson had turned his head and met her lips with his, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close. She relaxed with her hands against his chest and gave in to the heat that crept over her body. Perhaps anyone might see them, but who did she know in London?

#####

Mr. Carson woke before his wife and smiled sleepily. She was asleep with her head on his shoulder and her arm draped over his chest. Often when he woke first, he tried counting her eyelashes, though he never finished before she awoke. It was far too dim in the hotel room for him to attempt it now; night had fallen while they slept and there was only one lamp on. He was just as content to close his eyes and enjoy the delicate scent of her - vanilla and Elsie. Before long, however, Mrs. Carson awoke. Her hand wandered about his chest, caressing him lightly.

"That's nice, Elsie," Mr. Carson mumbled.

"It's odd to fall asleep when it's light and wake up when it's dark," Mrs. Carson observed.

"We've done it before," he chuckled.

She moved to sit on her haunches beside him, her finger still tracing patterns on his chest. Mr. Carson took the opportunity to admire her revealed form in the dim light. "Charles, do you ever have moments when it's hard to believe this is all real?"

"Hard to believe that _what_ is all real?"

"Everything. Marriage. Retirement. This." She gestured to their naked bodies. "Six months ago I loved you, but if someone had told me that I would be waking up in a London hotel on a Wednesday just before dinnertime after an afternoon spent making love to you, I would have laughed at them. I don't know if there is any way my life could be more different now than it was then."

"The only thing that was the same is that you and I were together."

Mrs. Carson smiled affectionately at her husband. "We were, love, though not in quite the same way as now."

"Not quite. But I think I know what you mean. It did all happen rather quickly."

"Quickly and slowly all at once."

Mr. Carson's eyes questioned her. "What do you mean?"

She didn't meet his eyes. "Well, I don't know how it was for you, but for me the love moved slowly, and the courtship very quickly. I knew years ago that I loved you."

"There's no question that the courtship went quickly!" he agreed. "For me the love was both slow and fast."

She raised her head to look at him, her eyes asking for some explanation.

"It was knowing that I might lose you that forced me to acknowledge that I loved you, and that I had for a long time," Mr. Carson admitted. "Once I knew it, I wanted to tell you right away, to find out if you loved me, or even if you _could_ love me. I wasn't sure if I would succeed with you, but I wanted more than anything to make you mine."

"Oh, my dear, I've been yours for a long time," Mrs. Carson told him, smiling. "I tried not to love you, but you made it impossible. It was only when I had faced the fact that I might be dying that I decided to speak up about it. I could never be the same after those weeks of dread and then my eventual reprieve. I'd been given a gift and I didn't intend to waste it any longer. I didn't know if I could make you love me, but I meant to try."

"Come here, love," Mr. Carson said, tugging on her hand. She lay back down beside him, propping herself up on her elbow.

"I love you, Charles," Mrs. Carson murmured.

"I love you, Elsie," he whispered back before leaning in for a deep kiss.

"I suppose we have to get up and go out if we want something to eat," she sighed.

"Not so, my love. Stay here." Mr. Carson got out of bed and rummaged in his suitcase for his dressing gown, which he donned before making his way to the door.

"What are you doing, Charles?"

"Collecting the dinner I ordered when we checked in." He pushed a little wheeled cart into the room and closed and locked the door. "We can sit here at the table or I can serve you in bed."

"I think I'd prefer the table," Mrs. Carson replied. "But I hope you won't object if I don't dress for dinner." She climbed out of bed and approached the table, in dishabille. Her body was completely exposed to her husband, who was now staring openly, but rather than vulnerable she felt powerful. "Aren't you hungry, Charles?" she asked, sitting down.

"Yes, yes, of course." Mr. Carson moved some of the dishes to the table and sat down with her.

"You're a little overdressed, love," she pointed out, a flirtatious smile on her lips, as she served herself and began to eat.

"So I am," he acknowledged with a smile that matched hers, untying his dressing gown and letting it fall over the back of his chair.

They made quick work of their dinner and then wasted no time getting back into bed together, where they made love without speaking, their earlier conversation about quick love and slow love lingering in their minds as they began again to touch and kiss one another. After a little while all thought was left behind, making way for emotion and sensation - fear and relief and love and gratitude expressed in their sighs and moans of pleasure. When they were quiet once again, Mrs. Carson burrowed close to her husband, whose arms were wrapped around her tightly. They knew how lucky they were, both in her good health and in their finding a way to love one another.

#####

By morning they had drawn apart some, though they were still touching. This gave Mr. Carson, when he woke, the perspective he needed for his usual occupation of counting his wife's eyelashes in the morning sun. As usual, she seemed to somehow sense that he was awake and opened her eyes before he had counted one hundred lashes.

"Good morning, love," he greeted her. "Are you ready to see London?"

"Not yet," she answered with a yawn. "But I will be once I've dressed and had something to eat."

"Good," he said, kissing her mouth gently and climbing out of bed. "I'm going to show you some of the best the city has to offer today."

"But don't forget this is meant to be a second _honeymoon_, Charles."

"I don't think I could forget that," he replied, wiggling his eyebrows.

"I'm glad," Mrs. Carson replied, getting out of bed. "I certainly do want to see some of London, but I'm mainly here for the company."

"You needn't worry, my dear. It so happens that this very bed is one of London's greatest sights and is so fascinating that it can be visited multiple times without any risk of boredom, a compliment that cannot be paid to _every_ place we will visit."

Mrs. Carson bit her lip, but was unable to hold back her ringing laugh. "Oh, Charles, I do love you."

"I love you, too, dear," he answered. "Shall we get dressed and go down to breakfast?"

She nodded, still laughing, and they both dressed themselves and left the room, hand in hand.

_The end._

**A/N: Thank you for all of your reviews and support. During the posting of this story, I had a bit of an awakening of my own, rather unpleasant, but necessary all the same. Knowing that, in spite of it all, I was still able to participate in this community of readers and writers was a great comfort to me. Whether you wrote me a review here, liked or reblogged on Tumblr, or just put another "view" on my traffic stats, your participation in my writing process is much appreciated. Thank you.**


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